


do you want to talk?

by electronicphilharmonic



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:22:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25535038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electronicphilharmonic/pseuds/electronicphilharmonic
Summary: Flora loves London and her new family, but there’s some times when she longs for the comforts of her life left behind in St. Mystere. Most of all, she misses her parents. Luckily, Professor Layton is there to help her grieve.Takes place sometime around Curious Village and Diabolical Box.
Relationships: Hershel Layton & Flora Reinhold
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	do you want to talk?

For the longest time, grief had been Flora’s closest companion.

She was struck with it at the worst moments; little things would remind her of her mother and father, people so distant she now felt that she hardly knew them. Mere memories, but so close within her nonetheless. Grief ached in her bones and ached in her head and ached in her heart and it was too much for her to handle - how many times had she excused herself to collect her feelings alone in the bathroom by now? Too many to count. 

Up in her tower, all alone, she didn’t have much to do but grieve. Flora assumed that, since she was in a new place with exciting adventures, it would heal the aching in her heart; yet the sadness followed her, constantly on her heels, and she could never quite get rid of it. She'd chastise herself; it had been long enough for the ache to go away by this point, certainly, and yet it persisted, like an itch she couldn't quite reach. And it was by this point that she had realized that the professor had taken notice. 

It was a dreary day- as was so frequent in London, she learned (yet didn't mind one bit) - when the wave of depression she knew so well came crashing back. Flora was curled up on the sofa , enthralled in watching raindrops race each other down the window, when she was struck with familiarity. It was the smell of freshly made tea, the gentle buzz of the phonograph after its record had stopped playing, and the lethargy that came with hazy rain that reminded her. 

_Her mother playing old records on the phonograph, swinging her about. Her father watching from his chair, sipping his tea and amused by his family. Rain drizzling on St. Mystere for the first time in who knows how long._

She remembered, and the feeling came back, as strong as ever. With a croak, she excused herself, setting her teacup down on the living room coffee table too hard and walking outside onto the front porch without a second glance. She wasn't sure what hit her cheeks first - the rain or her own tears. She didn't care either way. Her body crumpled into a ball, shivering and shaking from sobs and the cold, uncaring weather. 

She missed them. Missed them more than the whole world and everything in it. And she hated that she felt so alone and she hated that this feeling was so familiar and she hated that she was an afterthought and she hated hated hated --

"Flora, dear, is everything alright?"

\-- and she hated that this man was not her father. 

It was an awful thought. She knew that. Flora loved the professor, she really did, but there were times where he was only a reminder of those she's lost - not to mention, a reminder of her constant abandonment. And that made her feel more horrible than ever. 

There was a click, and quietly, she felt no rain above her anymore and instead felt the professor sit down next to her, umbrella in hand. She muttered a thanks. 

The rain filled the void where a conversation should be. Flora could find no calm in it. 

"Do you want to talk?" The professor asked simply, keep his gaze on the apartment buildings across from them and the occasional car that drifted by. He was so attentive to every little detail, Flora knew, of course he'd know she was upset. Honestly, it didn't take a genius to figure that out - she wasn't exactly _subtle._

"I don't know," she said. "What is there to talk about?"

"Do you want to talk about what's troubling you?" He asked, glancing her way. Her brow furrowed as she began to watch cars too - red one, blue one, grey one, all in a row. 

"Mm…" she sighed. "I...it's just that I miss my parents sometimes." As soon as she admitted it, the churning in her stomach released, and she felt that she could breathe again, just a little bit. 

The professor hums. "I'm sorry you feel that way," he said, his voice sweet and sincere. "Losing not just one parent, but both, is a horrible thing to endure at such a young age." 

She nodded silently. The rain grew in full swell. Through the corner of her eye, she watched the professor. 

From the first time she had seen him, she knew he was someone who had never had a child. The gleam in his eyes gave way to his inner youth - one she learned was denied by trauma too many times. He was never ready to care for a child - and a teenager? It was out of the question. But Flora was just... _dumped_ in his way; what better way to come back home than with a grieving teenager and overwhelming responsibility? 

"Do you want to talk about them?" He asked. 

But...Professor Layton was welcoming. He was eager to care for her, albeit rather sheepish in his inexperience as a parent. And at the time, it was all Flora wanted - someone to care for her again. 

"...Mama passed while I was still young. I don't remember her as much...but I do remember that she loved music, and she always smelled like flowers," Flora said, a smile creeping onto her lips. The scents of hyacinth and yarrow ghosted her nose. "And I'd grab a handful of the fabric from her dress just to smell it."

The professor chuckled, and Flora did, too. Her anxiety melted away, and warmth spilled in its place. "And my father would always take me to the amusement park and win prizes for me. He was the best at ring tosses!" Her hands not-so-gracefully mimicked the game, mocking the sound of a bell when she won.

"I wish I could have seen the park in its heyday," Layton mused. 

"Oh, it was wonderful! It was so bright and happy," she explained; but the excitement she held within her was quick to die out, leaving her just as upset as she was before. "I wish it didn't become so abandoned. It made me sad seeing it from my tower everyday looking like that."

The professor, ever the keen eye, noticed her mood drop. Gently, hesitantly, he placed a hand on her shoulder. Flora flinched, but the feeling of his touch was all she needed to unravel; she slumped down next to him, allowing her hiccuped cry to return. 

It hurt. It hurt crying over something that happened a long time ago. It hurt doing it right in front of someone she admired. It hurt so, _so_ bad; grief blossoming from her chest and filling her bones until she was a teary-eyed mess. 

She cried for her father. She cried for her mother. She cried for the abandoned park. She cried for every person in all of St. Mystere. It was all she could do for now. 

The professor didn't mind her sniffles. He only wrapped his arms around her and let her cry - and that was all she needed; someone to hold her tight. 

The rain fell in sheets. Red, blue, gray, cars drove by, all in rows. Clumps of cosmos swayed in the wind from their stuffy window boxes; Flora felt relief at the knowledge that she wouldn't have to water them later on. The professor hummed a melody she had heard him play on the phonograph once before - a song about eternal life, if she wasn't mistaken. How ironic. 

“I wish I could have met Baron Reinhold while he was still alive. He seems to have been a wonderful man,” The professor commented, before pausing. “And he raised a wonderful daughter.” With that, he squeezed her shoulder lightly, making her giggle.

Underneath the brown umbrella, in the arms of someone filling a role that she had been sorely lacking for so long, she felt content. It wasn’t the familiarity of St. Mystere, not at all, but it was a new thing entirely; a new familiar, one she could get used to sometime soon.

But there was something still bothering her, a thought that lingered in her head, one she couldn't get rid of unless she spoke it out loud. “Professor?” She mumbled. “Can I tell you something?” 

The professor nodded. “Of course.”

She took a deep breath, in through her nose, out through her mouth. But with that came the words she feared saying most, too fast for her to realize. “I don’t know if I can call you father anytime soon.” 

What a shameful, selfish thing, she thought, that she couldn't even call her foster parent father. Guilt held its grip tight on her. The professor was silent, and for a moment Flora feared she had upset him; but the hand laid on her own was enough to silence her; she glanced over, and the professor smiled. 

“That’s okay.”

It was a simple response that took Flora by surprise. “You aren’t upset?”

“Flora, dear, why would that make me upset?” he explained, brow knit in worry. He shifted slightly to face her and his gaze never wavered from her own. 

She faltered slightly, setting her hands in her lap. "I-I don't know," Flora admitted, cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I thought you'd want me to call you that soon. I don't think Papa would have minded, but to me...well, it just feels out of place.”

“That’s completely understandable,” the professor said. "As long as you are comfortable, it doesn't matter how you refer to me. All I want is for you to be happy." 

Flora nodded, a smile gracing her face; she had wanted to hear something like that for a long time now. Silently, she slumped against Layton's shoulder, resting her head. The rain tapped along the sidewalk, puddling by their feet. The smell of ozone and brewing tea lingered in the air. 

She felt...safe. It was something she hadn’t felt for a long time; living in a decrepit, looming tower wasn’t exactly the dictionary definition of safe, she had realized a long time ago. And the automatons of St. Mystere could only do so much, quirky as they were.The last time she felt so peacefully content was in the gentle hold of her father, but this was ever so slightly different -- it was a feeling of finally. _Finally, I’m safe again._

She hummed, and listened to the rain pitter-patter down. "Thank you, professor." 


End file.
